Firefly
by evilqueen13
Summary: Alfred F. Jones, freelance space captain for hire and his crew consisting of Toris, Gilbert, and Peter, weren't intending to get sucked into a galactic war when he took a job from one Matthew Williams, but that's what happened, along with a whole lot more. Chased by the military, shot at, blown up, the ship breaks down more than the government and why are they out of food... again.
1. Alfred

This is a little story written by me and the Canada from my little role play group . There's gonna be some blood, explosions, shenanigans, crazy Russians, crazy Prussians, frightened Lithuanians, piratical Nordics, irritable pets, space, references to firefly and hitchhikers guide to the galaxy, and maybe even a little romance… if you squint.

You have been warned….

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It was one of those slow Alpha VI days—that is, to say, when you walked down the spice-and-oil slicked streets, you had about an arm's length of space between you and the next person, and the vendors weren't yelling out "bargains" to onlookers or swatting the hands of the little urchins as much as usual—and the sun just peaked over the low line of adobe houses and tin-and-cardboard shacks to shine its brilliance or whatever; at least it was warm.

Repairs were a lot easier when I wasn't not freezing my damn fingers off while trying to dislodge a fried drive on my baby, and by baby I mean my Firefly. She was by far the most gorgeous ship to ever fly the outer edge and beyond: A sweet little class A-16, twice my age (that was 60 old earth years at the time), custom fitted hyper drive from the era of hydrogen fusion, more space tape than metal, and oh, those old 3014 feather touch steering joysticks!—any man who knew his engines could look at my Firefly and know that she was the truest ship there ever was in these here skies. I guess that would make me the only man who knew his engines.

Anyway, that's how I wound up trying to make my way through the crowds of the Alpha VI bazaar at the crack of dawn. I'd just spent all night working my fingers to bone, patching some old pipe work that'd rusted through, so we—me and my crew—could get out once the dock man came over to untether us. God damned shifty little crook that man was. He'd give exactly what you paid for, and not a second more; he didn't know how to take 'we'll leave sometime before noon, so we'll pay for up to then,' and wouldn't let you sneak out early. But in hindsight, it was a kinda' good thing, or we woulda' left earlier and that kid would've caught up with me on that fateful day.

He slid up next to me at the Bazar-I couldn't help but notice he was following me for a bit as I walked the market. I couldn't tell if this kid was a boy or a girl; clumsy little thing he was, lanky and fair faced with wheat hair and freckles. I could tell he was penniless—that much was clear—and wore what looked like rags at first glance, but if you looked close enough, you could almost see the over-sized holey work shoes, dirt brown slacks, an old white shirt, and a torn up and patched again waistcoat, underneath all the caked on mud and rust. Over his arm was a raggedy old coat that looked like he'd dug it out of one of these merchant's trashcans, and a bundle of what I assumed were the only things he'd ever owned, wrapped in burlap and tied with twine. Something about him felt off, and I assumed, at the time, that he was the kid of some rich woman who'd died and left everything to her cats, or some workaholic general who'd went off and abandoned him for the glory of war ( turns out I was dead wrong, but we'll get to that later), and he looked like he'd been beat down and forgotten by the world; I could see it in his scared purple eyes, in the way they darted here and there, and he was always quaking in his boots, like he was about to be jumped, or something like that. I thought the kid was gonna just beg and move on to get food or something, but instead, he cleared his throat, and when I turned and gave him some attention, quipped, "E-e-e-excuse me, Captain Jones? Y-y-you're C-captain Jones, r-right? I-I'm looking for passage o-off world. I-I can pay you, long as y-you're g-g-g-g-going past the moons at Beta III. I c-c-c-can pay you, and I got my own papers settled up."

I barely heard him over the din of the market, the last thing I was expecting outta' him was a job. Off-world, he was what, just a kid! "You sure?" I asked. "It's rough out there, and you look a bit green. How old're you? What's your name? You got a pa 'round here, that I can talk to?" I thought that'd chase the kid off, for a while.

"W-w-w-w-well, sir, my n-n-name's Kirkland, M-M-M-Matthew Kirkland. You'd s-s-s-sss-sssss-see that on the p-paper, if you l-looked, and you'd s-sss-sssss-see that I'm twenty-two and g-got no p-p-pa for you to t-talk to, and n-no ma, for that m-matter."

I thought, for a second, the kid was giving me sass, but there was something beguiling about him, and I needed the money to run my firefly and get food (there was never enough food). "Twenty-two, you sure?" He didn't sound or look it (more like 14 and tall), and I couldn't take a kid between planets and through war zones on a clear conscious. "It's rough out there, and I might need you to act fast, or you might get hurt. You ready for that?"

I musta offended him or something, 'cause he shifted into a more square stance, and threw his nose in the air like one of those bratty superioritist-people in the center Omega system. "I-I'll have you kn-n-n-now I'm m-m-more than ready, ssssir! J-just take the p-payment, alright?"  
"Woah there, alright alright!" Yeesh, what a brat he was. "I'm just making sure, nothing else! The ship's in loading dock 8-F. Go get yourself situated; I got some things I gotta pick up before we go. Now shoo."

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We have a lot more to the story, enough for a decent size novel in fact, so if you like it or even if you hate it, let us know we live on feedback and constructive criticism.


	2. Gilbert

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Now let's see... Alfred, Alfred. Sorry, it warn't this hard to remember things this morning. I even had a list-ah! Here it is. Now I remember him.

Al war one of those dopey guys, yah know? I met him in the wer, or the space navy, or what was it-it was the Allied Armed Forces. That's right. Yeah. He wer this wide eyed and bushy tailed kid when I saw him first, all geared up the way they taught the cadets. Guess he always had that self righteousness, even through that whole Mattie fiasco. Never seen someone go running into something so blindly and justify the whole mess with "I thought I was doing the right thing." Not even the governments ever pulled anything like that.

Mattie? Oh, you want to know about that? That whole thing? Well, I guess I can try to remember that. It wer so long ago.

I wer waiting for Al to come back from the market so we could finish the ship and get off of this dumb rock, when he came in dragging that Matt behind him. I had no idea what kind of it, it was, but it warn't no kid. I mean, I knew we needed cash, but I didn't know we were so hard up that we had to bring fleabags on the ship to pay the bills. If I'da known then, what I know now, I woulda asked Uncle Ben for a little on the loan or something, coz this kid warn't;well like I said, it warn't a kid.

"What's this?" I deadpanned, standing between the both of them and the bay door. No way was I letting them in without a damn fine explanation.

"Matthew Kirkland, I'd like you to meet Gilbert Beilschmidt, my gunner" Al gave me those "you-better-behave-or-I'm-gonna-skin-you" eyebrows just long enough for me to notice. "Matthew here is our new client."I could see already, there warn't any talking him outta this one. Al wer already set. "Right, Mister Kirkland?" The kid just sorta stared at me a few moments, so Al insisted, "We're taking you to the-the-where are we taking you again?"

"A-albino."

Ah, the albino card. I tried not to roll my eyes, but why were this always the first thing people seemed to get hung up on when they meet me. I could see, he was just scared of red eyes and all that. "Yeah, I'm albino, what's it to yah?" Maybe I coulda scared the kid off if I tried harder or been more intimidating. "I have no pigment. Cool, right? How're my eyes in this light, blue or red?"

"Very pink actually," Kirkland said. "It's—it's actually—might I examine your eyes a little bit?"

"Why yes, it's something I'm born wait what?" I warn't expecting that. At all. "Uh, well, wait what do you want to do?" I stuttered too late, coz the kid grabbed my chin and tugged it skywards, so he could get waaaay too close for comfort and squint at my eyes. He was at least a few inches taller than me, maybe one or two taller than Al, and the way he grabbed and pulled me, my feet twisted up and I had to crane my neck. "Oh ow ow leggo leggo!" I dangled from his hand a little and tried to get my feet back under me, but this kid had a hell of a grip, and he wer so much more interested in staring into my soul or whatever that he didn't notice. "Hey hey, hands off! We don't touch the moneymaker! Just—just leave my face intact okay? I need that! How else am I gonna get the dames? Come on, pal, leggo, pleeeeease?"

"...stunning vitamin D benefits in the dark, but on local planets, with arid sunny climates…. Have you tried using eye black? How much sunscreen do you use?" He finally dropped me and reached around in his grubby little burlap pack for a worn out, overused leather notebook and a charcoal stick. "How badly do you burn under the ship's lights?"

Well I fell back faster than a bird flies out of the way of a rabid dog and scuttled down the hall a bit. "What the actual fuck? No, I don't use eye black! Ain't that for sissies? What—what the hell, dude?" I looked to Al for at little help here but he was trying not to bust a gut, jerk… but I sure warn't laughing. "Why'd you grab me? Nobody, and I mean nobody, can just grab a man like that! I outta—Why I outta pop you one and show you what's for!"

Kirkland glanced up at me and blinked. "Never got to see a real albino before. Oh, uh, I was in med school before my parents died. Uncle Brutus kicked me to the curb. I didn't mean to scare you, honest, it's just—woah, Albinos."

"Yeah we're real special. Alfred if you think I'm gonna let you keep thi—"

"Gilbert." He rudely interrupted me as he finally stopped laughing, "You should see yourself." The Cap finally got some control and righted himself out like a proper captain should. "Matt, excuse us for a moment." He said as he and walked over, putting his arm around my shoulder and lead me a few paces away out of earshot, "Now this is a client, an important one, if I catch you being rude to the client, I WILL dock your pay, got it?" A'fore I could answer, he reached out and pat me on the back like some kid; problem wer, he was so big, he nearly knocked me over."Oh and since you left that cheese in the guest cabin and it stunk out the place, he's going to have to take yours." I opened my mouth to protest, but he just kept going, "I don't want to hear it, this is your fault for hiding cheese and forgetting about it, now why don't go and get everything ready for the good man, he's probably tired." He clapped me on the shoulder and turned back to Matt before I could even say anything. "And I need you to go tell Peter that we're shuffling off soon, and he needs to finish up the engines. Then you're gonna go to your cabin, like you always do, and do whatever it is you do while you're in there, okay? You don't even have to see Mr. Kirkland again, except at dinner. Well after you move it anyway. Got it?"

I still didn't want him on the ship. He wer so off and—bleh. Just seeing him stand there all awkward and hunched made me wanna leave the room. "Fine, fine, I got it. I'll go tell Peter. When's dinner?"

"Eighteen hundred."

"Fine then. See yah then, Captin'." I didn't bother turning back for the sarcastic salute. It worked better backwards anyway.

Now Peter was a kid I could get along with. Sure, he was ten and never spent a day out of that mechanical playground of his (he even had a hammock hooked up to a few switches he disconnected, in case he needs a break), but he didn't grab you or ask if you wear makeup or anything like that, and he was, without a doubt, the best mechanic you could find this side of the center Omega system.

"Yo, Pete," I called through the door. I heard a thump and the sound of a few tools dropping, and a whole lotta cursing in whatever language it was the Gamma system kids spoke.

"Yeah?" he called back. A few seconds later the door slid open and Peter, smeared head to toe in grease and whatever other fluids spilled outta that engine, stepped out. Yah couldn't make heads nor tails of him when he wer like that; yah could just see the outline of a ten year old and then, in the middle of his face, were two bright blue eyes that sort of stuck out against the slick black. "We leave soon, right?"

"Yeah, well this is your five minute warning. Oh, and we picked up a real nutjob too. I'd watch yourself."

"Nutjob?"

"A Kook. I think the kid's doing something. You'll see it when you meet him, don't worry. Oh, and dinner's at six o'clock."

"Isn't it always?"

"Yeah yeah, shush. Go clean up, why don't yah?"

"Whaddaya mean?"

"...Just go take a bath!"


End file.
